Eleven, Eleven
by boomzgleeks
Summary: Oneshot written for Veteran's Day, my favourite day in the year. Rated because I'm paranoid.


**Written for Veteran's Day, a.k.a my birthday.(: Historical references may be incorrect because I'm not American. **

**-Lea xx.**

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Silence.

A fragile thing, breaking if you ever utter any sound. Silence is like a protective wall; if nothing is said, nobody will get angry, and no one will get hurt. It brings a serene sense of peace and ease. Silence can also be more hurtful than a tirade of angry words. A cold, sharp silence stabs you in the heart much, much harder than a bout of scoldings. A cold shoulder, the silent treatment, two of the many names for a hurtful silence. But silence also brings inspiration. To many, carrying out a task well needs silence. It allows focus on our tasks, or a sense of loneliness to write moving pieces or paint a haunting picture. That kind of silence is neither a sad nor a depressing one, and it's America's favourite kind of silence.

He's scared of the creepy silence; it reminds him of the calm before the storm. Being loud and talkative drives away most periods of awkward silences when around other people, it makes him feel safer and more accepted. America doesn't care that it makes him a tiny bit notorious for his relentless chatter; it eases the tense moments and relaxes people around him, making him seem friendlier. That way, he at least has his own unique and obvious personality, something that he and he only owns. More people know about him and he doesn't just fade into the background. It's safe.

Sometimes America just wants to tune all the noise out, others, he wants to tune it all in. Sitting on his couch, looking through his schedule, he realises that it will soon be Veteran's Day. 11 November. The day of happiness, the day of peace. Even the date is perfect: 11/11. The only date in the year possible to have identical digits for everything. It simply wasn't okay for Germany to just come along and drag into the war he was blazing with the other European countries, really. He couldn't bear to just sit there and watch thousands of soldiers; thousands of civilians perish in the hands of the Germans. He hadn't had a choice but to declare war on Germany. It just wasn't right.

America always hated bombs, though. Not only did they represent horrible things and death, but they were also extremely loud and noisy. Everyone was always able to hear a bomb. It disrupted the peace and quiet that he needed to write one of his depressing stories that he sometimes liked to indulged in, and it normally killed people right along with it. It was terrible.

So on 11 November, he had been glad, ecstatic that all the noise, all the death, the bloodshed, it would be all over. He didn't even mind that the stifling silences of the frightened civilians that he had hated were replaced by cheers and national-anthem singing. It was a happy kind of noise, and it was one of the few times that America preferred exuberant noises to suffocating silences.

Veteran's Day honours the brave souls who lost their lives during the dark period if World War 1. It falls on a memorable day, 11/11. It's America's second favourite day, after his birthday, of course.

Every single year, he visits the memorial to offer flowers. The silence there is mournful, yet in a way, it is full of pride. The silence there makes America want to break down into sobs, yet he also wants to sing the national anthem with more vigour and pride for the soldiers. It's a confusing feeling, the opposite emotions mixed up and bottled inside him. America doesn't mind though, the drama of the war is over now, It's all over. All over.

He dons a well-pressed suit, and offers words of condolences to families missing a father or grandfather. They all smile at him through their tears, and pat his shoulder, grateful to him for being so sympathetic. Yet, inside, they think that he is too young to ever truly know the agony of having lost someone in the war, however long ago or distant the relative. America knows, of course, he knows it more than anyone else in his country, for he is his country. The pain of dying, coupled with the depressing feeling of losing someone is far bigger than anyone else's agony. But he doesn't say anything, maintains the calm and collected silence. This avoids hurting other people's feelings, and he's more than happy to do that.

The service carries on, the reign of silence over it prominent. 


End file.
